


Error: Friends Not Found

by mrs_miserable



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, F/M, M/M, Other, Platonic Soulmates, Soul Bond, True Love, True Love's Kiss, dreaming of your soulmate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:21:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21992434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_miserable/pseuds/mrs_miserable
Summary: Soulmates was a concept no one on the isle believed in anymore, but Carlos thought they had found something special and unique. It was easy in a way nothing on the isle was ever easy, and he didn’t want to let it go. He refused to let it go, no matter how undeserving he felt of Jay’s loyalty, or Evie’s compassion, or Mal’s protection. No matter what their parents said about “attachments.” He was going to keep this, keep them, for as long as they’d let him.They settled into a natural rhythm, eventually, and the Rotten Duo became the Rotten Four. It was MalJayEvieCarlos until Auradon's crown prince announced his first royal proclamation, and then, suddenly, Carlos was gone, off the isle and discovering a new soulbond in a new land, surrounded by enemies, with allies he couldn't fully trust. Ben promises to send for Carlos' friends with the next wave of VK's, but those things take time and in the meantime, Carlos is scrambling to fit in with high society without the help of his friends.(Or, the soulmate au I got tired of waiting for someone else to write)
Relationships: Audrey & Ben & Chad Charming, Ben/Carlos de Vil, Evie & Jay & Mal & Carlos de Vil, Evie/Mal (Disney)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	1. T is for Trauma

**Author's Note:**

> Admittedly, this gets off to a slow start, but I'll do my best to hurry it along so we can get to the more interesting stuff.

There are two main seasons on the Isle of the Lost, with transitions so brief they didn’t warrant naming. The weather, like all things under Fairy Godmother’s barrier, was manipulated to further punish the isle’s inhabitants. Whether it was an intentional request made by Auradonian royals or simply an unfortunate side effect of collective bad karma, no one could say, but the fact remained true.

Summers—the Scorching Season—lacked the comfort of the sun, but its heat was still trapped under the slate grey sky. The air remained sticky with it even after nightfall, never granting a respite. Often, the dense forest along the islands south shore would catch fire, driving the wild beasts that lived there inland. A few brave souls called this hunting season.

Presently, they were deep into the Blizzard Months, and the school had been closed, simply because no one was attending anyway. Carlos de Vil was perhaps the only child on the island who was unhappy about this. He liked school, despite the daily torment, even though it was rarely interesting to him. He found that he grasped concepts much faster than other students, and much quicker than his teachers planned for. He grew bored quickly, but it was better than staying home.

It was warmer too, usually. His mother’s house was never warm. Hell Hall was not insulated for winter. Most of the homes in his district weren’t. The large imposing structures were beautiful, in their haunting way, but outdated and time-consuming to heat. They were designed, he assumed, to be run by a team of servants and ruled by families with money to burn. Carlos was his mother’s only servant, and De Vil Industries was no longer the fashion empire it once was. Cruella didn’t seem to care much, or, at least, she didn’t care if her son was cold. So, when Carlos woke up shivering on the bare mattress in her closet, he decided it was time to stop sleeping inside. He wasn’t sure why he even bothered to try.

He was already dressed in his warmest clothes, strategically layered: t-shirts under sweaters under jackets, socks under thermals under jeans, clothes with holes always went first. No skin was left bare. He was prepared to make a short trip across the backyard, at least. Getting out of the house unnoticed would be the tricky part. It wasn’t an issue of his mother wondering where he was but seeing him in the first place. Seeing her son filled Cruella with such a rage that she was likely to lash out, verbally or physically, and assign him a strenuous chore.

The door was his first obstacle. He knew it would creak when opened, but his mother was likely in the Red Lounge, and wouldn’t hear it. Still, he moved quickly and stopped the door when there was just enough space for his thin frame. It squealed once, sharp and short. He moved down the hall, using the carpet to muffle his footsteps, staying far from the walls, being careful not to tiptoe. He’s coming up on the Red Longue now and pauses just before the opening. Inside, Cruella sits in front of the fireplace, wrapped in a fur coat, nursing spoiled wine.

No room in Hell Hall was well-kept, but this one was his mother’s favorite, so it received special attention. The wallpaper—a glossy red quatrefoil—was curling in the corners but still gleamed in the fire’s warm glow, giving the room itself an eerie red hue. If Cruella really was the devil, Carlos mused, this was where evildoers would come to plead for lesser punishments. He had done that once, and it was the memory of that particular transgression that had him quickly darting passed the doorway without being seen.

He made it to his treehouse without any mishaps. While it wasn’t particularly large, it was an impressive building, as far as tree houses went. It looked almost like a castle if castles were built with washed-up trash and fourth-hand materials. It had taken Carlos two summers to complete and was as elaborate and strangely beautiful as anything created by a De Vil was expected to be. His mother taught him very few life lessons, but she managed to instill in him a deep appreciation for beauty and drama and glamour. Cruella de Vil sipped black ink in a blood-red evening gown on a Tuesday afternoon purely for the aesthetic. She never taught her son the art of subtly. So, he built himself a castle in a large gnarled tree, complete with mini turrets and a balcony to overlook the forest beyond it. It was a labor not of love, but necessity. While his mother had always been unkind, she had steadily advanced passed negligent, to hateful, and was, at this point, downright cruel and abusive. He had toyed with the idea of running away, fighting for a place on the streets and trying to evade his mother’s henchmen at every turn, but the fantasy was short-lived. Even if he wasn’t smaller and weaker than most other people on the isle, it would be stupid to give up what little security he had and risk his mother’s fury in the process. A treehouse had seemed the most logical solution, to a ten-year-old.

What mattered most at the present moment was that it was warm. The space heater he rigged up managed only a weak stream of hot air, but with patience and rags sealing any cracks in the walls, his castle was a cozy refuge. It was there, shielded from one of many frigid, impossibly long winter nights that Carlos hatched a wicked scheme. He had misappropriated a few books from the school’s library. Reading through them, he got an idea—it wasn’t quite villainous enough to gain him any street cred, but it was something selfish with a high probability of long-term entertainment.

From the small window on the closed balcony doors, he saw the lights of Auradon glittering across the water. Suddenly, as if in recognition of his genius, fireworks exploded above Auradon Central’s skyline. At once, the night sky was a rainbow of color, reflecting in the dark ocean. He imagined they were celebrating something, but, then again, it seemed like they were always celebrating something. Giving the scorned islanders regular reminders of how much better life was across the Sea of Serenity.

He knew immediately at that moment that he would succeed. Carlos de Vil would poke a hole in the dome, and he would change his life. 


	2. A Very Nice Prince

New Year's Eve found Crown Prince Benjamin Florian the unwilling host of a party in the west lounge of Castle Beast.

Officially, King Beast and Queen Belle were hosting the annual winter ball. The halls of Castle Beast were decked out in silver and gold for the occasion, with wreaths on every door and poinsettia plants in every corner. The main ballroom had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Twinkling string lights, balloons filled with glitter, sparkling champagne in crystal glasses, and gentle snow fell from the high ceilings, stopping just above the heads of royal partygoers. It was a night full of elegant evening gowns and well-tailored suits, exquisite food, and renowned musicians. Everyone in the kingdom was invited, technically, but those in attendance were typical of royal blood or had enough wealth to pretend.

Unofficially, royalty and council members were rubbing elbows in the ballroom while the princes and princesses of the nation played beer pong in the royal equivalent of a basement.

Typically, Ben loved people. As the future king, he was well-trained in socializing with foreign diplomats and the elder council members. It was people his own age that baffled him. Sometimes, he felt like he missed half the conversation. The bulk of his time was spent in meetings and extra lessons, so he interacted with his peers less than he would like. His father said it was good, that they’d learn to see him as King first and friend second. He didn’t like it, but Ben accepted that this was the way things were.  
He didn’t want to be at the party, and he ended up clinging to Audrey and Chad more than he probably should have. It was easier with them, but he saw this as a rare opportunity to interact with his classmates outside of school. Eventually, he found himself doing shots with Aziz by the pool table, where a few of the girls were trying to play a game. They didn’t appear to know any of the rules. Or maybe they had forgotten them. Or maybe it was just an excuse to lean over and showcase the long line of their bodies in their glittery gowns.

Ben is definitely not sober, and he can’t help giving an unimpressed eye-roll at their not-game. “I’m gonna go find Chad,” he says. The floor sways under his feet a little when he turns to glance around the room, he thinks that he might be a little drunk.

He couldn’t find Chad’s face on any of the bodies packed into the lounge, and very slowly (a prince should never stumble) made his way over to the sitting area, where some people were lounging on the couches. Stopping partway there to lean against the wall, he spotted Chad standing on the coffee table talking at a group of tourney players. Audrey was there too, chatting with some girls Ben didn’t recognize.

Abruptly, Ben felt too hot in the crowded room and needed to get out. Pushing away from the wall, he made his way through the maze of bodies to the door. He made his way to the southern patio, where his mother’s private rose garden had been sealed off for the season. The world outside was covered in a blanket of snow, but one of the staff had cleared a path to the small courtyard. At its center was a statue of the King and Queen, Belle with a baby in her arms, wrapped in a blanket.

It was cold, but Ben always ran hot, and the alcohol left him flushed. The rush of cool air invigorated him, and without thinking, he shed his light jacket, dropped it at his feet. Finally able to catch his breath, he looked up at the statue before him. His mother was smiling down at the baby in her arms, and his father looked proud and regal. In his father's features, he saw pieces of himself, his strong brow, sharp cheekbones—kingly, Audrey would say. But sometimes Ben wondered.

There was a time when his father was anything but noble. Once upon a time, his father was the villain in his mother’s fairy tale. There was a time when he wasted his small kingdom’s resources on lavish parties and sneered at a starving old woman. There was a time when he stalked the halls of this very castle, full of loathing and resentment, a revolting monster.  
Once upon a time, King Beast was an arrogant prince, one vile enough to be cursed by a good witch.

Ben, in a moment of sobering clarity, came to the realization that his father really was nothing but a tamed beast. A selfish prince turned heroic king. Villain turned hero. _No one ever mentioned that,_ he thought.

Chad finds him staring up at his parents a few minutes later. “Ben,” he said. “What are you doing out here?”

Ben shrugged, turning to his friend, “I don’t know. Just needed some air, I guess.”

Chad picked up Ben’s coat and dusted the snow off the thick wool, “Put this on, it’s freezing.”

Ben smiled softly at his best friend, his soulmate. You see, Ben had already found two of his soulmates by the age of six. This wasn’t spectacularly rare by any means. In fact, it was quite common to find at least one soulmate during childhood, but the fact that he was a prince—a crown prince no less—was always enough reason for a headline. He’s pretty certain his first steps were recorded in history books, so a soulmate meeting was, of course, a significant event.

If he was being fair, and he always tried to be, meeting Chad was a momentous occasion even before Ben told his mother that he felt like the sun was rising in his chest. It was a step to solidify the Charming’s place in the unspoken hierarchy of royal families. His first playdate, his first friend, his first kiss too, if you want to count the sticky press of lips between two four-year-olds. They had been nearly inseparable from that moment, frequently having weeklong sleepovers where Ben’s suite of rooms became a blanket fort maze and Ben would spend hours retelling Chad stories his mother had read to him.

“What are you thinking about?” Chad asked him, shivering slightly in the cold air. Small snowflakes were settling in his golden waves.

“Soulbonds,” Ben said, honestly. He turned to look out at the evergreens marking the start of the forest bordering his parent’s kingdom. Some of the trees, like the skeletal shrubs and hedges, were aglow with twinkling gold lights. He debated, briefly, how honest to be in this moment. It had been hard, with the holiday preparation and royal duties, to get a moment alone with Chad these past few weeks, and this seemed as good a time as any. “I’ve been dreaming,” he said, finally.

“Dreaming? About what?”

Ben just sighed a powerful gust of white air and waited.

“Oh,” Chad said, finally. “_Oh_. Oh, fuck. Ben! That’s great! Who is it? Did you recognize them? Guy or girl? Or neither? Both? Dude!”

Chad was excited, naturally. His soulmate was finding his true love, he had a right to freak out a little. Not everyone had a true love, or at least they never found them. Ben was a prince, so people hoped, _expected_, that he would find true love someday. But at seventeen? When he was on the cusp of graduating from high school and inheriting the kingdom? It was the modern fairytale they had all been waiting for. Audrey was going to lose her shit when she found out.

Chad expected Ben to be jumping up and down. He spent most of his free time reading cheesy romance books, fantasizing about the person who would rule alongside him. Ben was a romantic, and an optimist. He had always, secretly, hoped to find his true love, and finally, fate was granting him that crucial glimpse of a twin soul. _Why,_ Chad wondered, _did he look like someone just died?_

“What’s wrong?”

“I…I didn’t recognize him. Or where we were. And his clothes were different, and he just looked…I don’t know, rough?”

“Well—”

“He didn’t recognize me either.”

That gave Chad some pause. No one didn’t know, at least superficially, who Ben was. He wasn’t some midlevel council member or regional representative. He was the crown prince, on the cover of magazines, participating in parades, doing regular interviews. He was in the news for something at least every other week. He was one of the most easily recognizable people in the world, and definitely in the kingdom. Still, it wasn’t unbelievable that his true love wasn’t already aware of his existence.

“So, a foreigner?” He guessed. “That’s not too bad. You’re going on tour soon, right, after the coronation? That’s probably when you’ll meet them.”

Ben didn’t lose that stricken look if anything his face fell further. “No, no. I’ve been thinking about this a lot. And with every dream, I—” He cut himself off, glancing at Chad, before settling his eyes once again on his father’s stone face. “I think my true love is on the Isle of the Lost.”  
Silence fell over the two princes. There could have been an earthquake at that moment and Chad wouldn’t have noticed. Ben’s words were like an electric shot to the stomach. Suddenly, Ben’s demeanor made sense, he’s certain his face had a similar expression. He thought he was going to be sick.

Ben turned to him fully now, his confession heavy in the air between them. He studied Chad’s face quietly for a moment before saying, “Yeah. Yeah, my sentiments exactly.”

“_Fuck_, Ben. I’m so sorry. What—”

“I don’t know.”

There wasn’t much else to be said at that moment. Chad had never been a terribly comforting person, even with his soulmates. They had never complained, but now he felt terribly inadequate. What did you say to someone who’s True Love is as good as dead? Worse than dead, really. He thought about arguing, denying Ben’s claim, because there was just no way. Fate would hardly punish someone as good as Ben, right?

In the end, he said nothing. Ben wasn’t one to speak before thinking it through, never jumped to conclusions without examining all the details, and considering all possible outcomes. Chad hoped he was wrong, but he knew on a bone-deep level, that Ben was right.

For Chad, it felt like the end. The death of something that had never gotten to live.  
For Ben, it felt like the beginning of something, albeit a terrible one. Just the barest hint of an idea on the edge of his consciousness. Above him, fireworks exploded.

A new year. This year Ben would make his first official proclamation and crown Prince and future King. Shoving his hand in his pockets, he felt his ring sit heavy on his finger, the same golden beast-head ring his father wore. He’d lied to Chad just then and tried not to feel bad about it. The truth was, he knew exactly what he needed to do, it just wasn’t going to be easy, and he was almost certain Auradon wasn’t ready for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think or if anything wasn't clear.  
I'm not sure about the pacing of this yet. I'm just trying to explain the au without doing a huge info dump. I have a couple more chapters before we actually get to the main action, so just bear with me.


	3. Hell Raiser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This pretty much follows the chapter of the same name in the first book, I just sped it up and skipped around.

Carlos de Vil was planning a party. A hell-raiser, to be exact, and he was far from happy about it. 

“Why did I agree to this?” he agonized aloud. “I’ve never liked parties.” He wasn’t anti-social by any means, but he certainly preferred sitting alone, working on his machines, to the complete trash-fire this party was sure to become. 

But there he was, balanced precariously on a rickety chair trying to hang black-and-white streamers that would hopefully transform the ballroom of his mother’s crumbling mansion into a party venue that lived up to Mal’s expectations. He wasn’t feeling particularly optimistic about that, but he was nearly done. Streamers secured, he turned to survey his handiwork. 

The walls had holes, most of the windows were boarded up, and the ones that weren’t were cracked, causing a terrible draft. He’d dug out some of his mother’s antique brass candelabras and set them up around the room. In the dim lighting, it looked as if the candles were floating in midair. Black-and-white balloons littered the floor, and the furniture had been pushed along the walls to make room for dancing or, more likely, chandelier swinging. 

His cousin Diego arrived not too long after he finished, setting up with his band, the Bad Apples, in the back corner. Jay waltzed in next, not bothering to knock but carrying bags of food, which Carlos had forgotten to supply. Hungry teenagers were never fun to be around, but hungry teenagers who took classes like Torture Techniques and Advanced Evil Schemes were _bloodthirsty._

He thanked Jay, silently, of course. He had decided a long time ago that he was better off avoiding Jay at all costs, something about him made Carlos nervous like nothing else.

The space between Jay’s arrival and that of the other guests was awkward—or maybe it was only awkward for him, hard to tell considering he refused to even glance over at Jay. Finally, people began to arrive, and Carlos went to stand against the wall as the party officially started. 

Mal arrived late—fashionably, of course. “Excited to see me?” she asked when Carlos opened the door. He nodded yes. Except that he wasn’t excited. 

He couldn’t avoid her like he did Jay. Mal wasn’t the kind of person you turn away from, because she wouldn’t allow it. Her presence demanded attention, and only the truly suicidal would refuse her. He was terrified. Of Mal. Of the weird buzz in his chest when she looked in his eyes.

He had the desperate, feverish urge to run and hide. 

So that’s exactly what he did, as soon as her back was turned, he found a large wingback chair in the drawing-room across the hall and waited for the night to be over. With any luck, Mal would be satisfied with the party and he could stay undetected until the Rotten Duo left. 

His reprieve lasted all of fifteen minutes before the two of them stumbled into the hallway. 

“Having fun?” Jay asked.

She shrugged. “Where’d Carlos go?” 

Jay laughed; a mocking thing that made Carlos sweat. “Hiding from his own party. Typical.” 

Carlos bristled. He had half a mind to jump out and ask Jay just where he got off acting like he knew what “typical” behavior for him was. It was a ridiculous fantasy. Even if the mere thought of looking either of them in the eye didn’t make his hands shake, he knew his place on the totem pole and it certainly wasn’t _able-to-cuss-out-Mal’s-right-hand-and-survive_. It was true, he’d rather be anywhere on the Isle than at this party—except maybe the attic, and even that sounded preferable at the moment. 

Jay asked her about some stupid party game that involved sticking pins into Jace (Carlos’ minion, technically.) “Maybe in a minute. Where’s Princess Blueberry?” Mal asked. “I did a whole loop of this party, and I didn’t see her anywhere.” 

“You mean Evie? She’s not here yet. Nobody knows if she’s coming or not,” Jay said, with a shrug. “Castle kids.” 

“She has to come. She’s the whole point. She’s the only reason I’m even having this stupid party.”

_ Interesting _, Carlos thought. Not very surprising, anyone with a pulse could see that Mal still held a grudge against the Isle’s blue-haired princess, but interesting, nonetheless. Carlos felt a little bad for the girl, honestly. Nobody wanted Mal’s ire directed at them, and she had seemed sweet. Still, it wasn’t his problem, and it sounded like Mal had more in mind for the night than Truth or Dare and bobbing for apples. He wasn’t about to put his neck on the line for a stranger. Not even one with second-best friend potential. 

* * *

Jay returned from dancing with a step-granddaughter and found Mal hadn’t moved from the front hall. “Mal. Mal. Earth to Mal?” he waved a hand in front of her face. “You okay?”

She nodded absently but didn’t respond. Jay frowned, holding out a cup of cider. “Here. It’s like you’ve powered down or something.” 

He was a little worried but quickly suppressed the emotion. He watched her perk up, spotting something out the front window.

“Jay,” she said motioning to the front door. “Let me know when Evie arrives.” 

“Huh? What? Why?”

“You’ll see,” she told him, smirking. 

“All part of the evil scheme huh?” he said, happy to do what she asked. He was always up for a good prank, and Mal always had one up her sleeve. 

But Carlos appeared in the hall suddenly, almost tripping over his own feet in an attempt to get in front of Mal. “Don’t—" he shouted, slamming closed the closet door Mal had been trying to open. Jay watched her cross her arms and knew she wouldn’t back down from this.

Something in that closet had Carlos white-faced and panicky, and Mal had a mischievous glint in her eye. Whatever horrors lurked in the depths of Hell Hall were not for the faint of heart. Especially not the princess who would appear at any moment. 

Jay puzzled out what Mal had planned even before she raised her voice. “New game! Seven Minutes in Heaven! And you’ve never played Seven Minutes if you haven’t played it in a De Vil closet.” 

Jay didn’t have friends, and he didn’t pick sides in fights that weren’t his. But if he were the type to have friends, he supposed Mal was the closest thing he had. So, when she asked who wanted to play, he grabbed hold of a recognizable blue cape just as its owner walked through the door. “She does,” he called out.

Evie had arrived. 

Mal smiled and threw her arms around the other girl._ Overkill_, he thought. But Evie seemed to buy it because of course she did. The naive princess always believes the malicious fairy. 

Then everything happened very quickly, and Carlos was practically begging Mal to let the princess out. Frantic and anxious while he shouted at Mal, “You can’t leave her in there! Remember what happened to us?” he asked, motioning angrily to his leg. 

Jay definitely did not wonder why Carlos was so concerned for Evie. And he definitely didn’t want to know how, or when, he and Mal were locked in a closet together. 

“Fine, go get her,” said Mal, a sly smile on her face, pleased with how her evil scheme had worked out. There was no way Carlos would go in there, and they all knew it. 

Behind the door, Evie screamed, and Carlos quaked in his boots. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is mostly written, I just need to finalize some stuff.
> 
> please leave a comment! criticize me!


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